


a tale of opened closet doors

by Anonymous



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Ambiguously unhappy ending, Coming Out, First Kiss, M/M, Making Out, Marijuana, Possibly Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:35:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24940924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Making out with your best friend at a sleepover is a tried and true way to figure out your sexuality.
Relationships: Jeremy Heere/Michael Mell
Comments: 3
Kudos: 102
Collections: Anonymous





	a tale of opened closet doors

**Author's Note:**

> Definitely pictured a Connolly!Jeremy when writing this.

Michael comes out to Jeremy in the seventh grade. 

The evening summer air is warm and comforting, the ghost of a breeze gentle and soft on Michael’s face. Jeremy is wearing an X-Men tee with a bright red stain dripping down the collar, a casualty from an earlier popsicle. The sun is setting behind him, backlighting his brown hair in a glowing golden halo. Michael is shivering in pure terror. 

He finally spits it out, and at Jeremy’s shocked face, he feels lightheaded. All of the worst case scenarios that he’d agonized over suddenly seem like they weren’t far-fetched after all.

Fortunately, his panic must show plainly on his face, because Jeremy suddenly sputters through half of an awkward declaration of support before giving up and wrapping Michael in a warm hug. Michael can’t help the unwanted tears that sting at his eyes, and he sobs once against Jeremy’s shoulder. 

“Michael,” Jeremy says, voice urgent, “we’re best friends, remember? Forever. I mean it, dude.”

Michael just clings tighter to Jeremy’s shirt and nods. 

Jeremy comes out to Michael in their freshman year of high school. 

They’re in Michael’s basement and they’re both stoned out of their mind. The two of them are three-quarters of the way through a random movie on TV when suddenly Jeremy says, overly casual, “Sometimes I think I might be bi-curious.”

If Michael wasn’t already flat on his back, lying across the couch, he probably would’ve fallen over. Michael has been dealing with rogue  _ feelings _ about Jeremy for years now. These  _ feelings _ are normally comfortably locked away in the back of his mind, but sometimes they bubble up beneath his skin when Jeremy smiles at him the right way, or when Jeremy says  _ I love you _ even though he doesn’t mean it like  _ that, _ or when Michael is alone and desperate at night in his room and Jeremy is the fantasy that he indulges. Michael keeps them locked away because Jeremy is not only his best friend, but straight, so it’s never going to happen. The idea that Jeremy might  _ not _ be straight is a curveball that Michael is not prepared to handle. 

Because of this, Michael does not make eye contact or insert any kind of inflection into his voice when he replies. He doesn’t trust himself. “Oh?” 

“Yeah,” Jeremy continues. Out of the corner of his eye, Michael can see Jeremy start to drum his fingers on the floor as he begins to ramble. “I, uh. I’ve been thinking lately. That sometimes I think about guys in a – um – a not especially straight way. Like sometimes I wonder what it would be like to kiss a guy. And I kind of want to try it. But I-I don’t know. Isn’t that normal? To just like, think about it? Doesn’t everyone?” He pauses and takes a slow breath, the hand in Michael’s peripheral vision clenching into the carpet. “What do you think?” 

Michael props himself up, leaning his head against the arm of the couch and looking at Jeremy fully. He has transcended his default worried expression and looks downright pained. “I’m not the best representative for straight people,” Michael says slowly, “but as a licensed 6 on the Kinsey scale,  _ I _ never think about kissing girls. Like, ever.” He grimaces at the thought. “I’m gonna be honest: I think you’re certified bi-curious, dude.”

Jeremy groans and puts his head into his knees, fingers buried in his curly hair. Michael sits up on the couch and leans over to put his hand on Jeremy’s shoulder. 

“Okay,” Jeremy speaks, voice muffled from his knees. “So I’m bi-curious. But Michael,” he suddenly looks up, face screwed up in anguish, “what if I’m actually just bi, full stop?” 

Michael is too high and dealing with  _ feelings _ swimming in his gut to handle Jeremy’s identity crisis right now. He rolls his eyes. “Then, you’re bi.” 

Jeremy looks aghast. “Michael!” 

Michael shrugs and falls backward, sinking into the couch cushions. “Sorry, man, what do you want me to say? That’s something you have to figure out on your own.” 

“Some help you are,” Jeremy mumbles, crossing his arms petulantly. 

Michael shoots him a glare. “Dude, what do you want  _ me _ to do?” 

Jeremy slouches helplessly and doesn’t answer. 

They sit in silence for a bit, Michael watching the movie in a futile attempt to ignore the chorus chanting  _ Jeremy might like guys _ over and over in his head, Jeremy staring at his hands. 

“Michael?” Jeremy sounds nervous. 

“Jeremy?” Michael mimics his tone.

Jeremy doesn’t smile. He takes a deep breath and starts to speak haltingly. “Don’t – don’t freak out, okay? And it’s fine if you don’t want to. W-we can forget that this conversation ever happened. But I was just wondering if, maybe, like, y-you would be willing to, uh,” Jeremy runs a hand through his hair, “to let me kiss you.” 

All of those  _ feelings _ light a fire in Michael’s brain. “What?” he manages to choke out. 

Jeremy’s face is completely red. “Y-yeah, you know, so that I can, like, see how it makes me feel.” His eyebrows suddenly shoot upward and he’s sputtering, “Not because you’re gay, I-I-I promise it has nothing to do with that, it’s totally just because you’re my best friend and I trust you and stuff, and oh my god I’m so sorry–” 

“Jeremy,” Michael interrupts, because his stoned brain has stopped freaking out enough to finish processing, and he’s recognizing Jeremy’s request as the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that it is. “You’re fine. I, uh,” he swallows thickly. “You can kiss me.” 

Neither of them make eye contact. “Oh,” Jeremy practically whispers. He clears his throat. “Okay.” 

After a moment of awkward hesitation, Jeremy joins him on the couch. Michael watches in a trance as Jeremy reaches up and slides Michael’s glasses off his face, setting them aside. His fingers brush Michael’s skin as he does so, and Michael’s breath catches as  _ feelings _ surge in his stomach. This might be a bad idea. 

“Okay, don’t make fun of me if it’s like, bad.” Jeremy is practically vibrating in place. He scoots forward, reaching a hesitant hand up to cup Michael’s cheek. Michael can’t stop the shudder that travels down his spine at the contact, and he wonders how much of it he can blame on the weed. 

Jeremy leans in and Michael almost shoves him away in a split second of terror, but he closes his eyes instead. 

The kiss is timid and soft, barely any pressure, but Michael’s entire body tingles with electricity. Jeremy pulls away but doesn’t move his hand, staring worriedly into Michael’s eyes. “Was that okay?” 

“Yeah.” Michael manages to sound normal, if a little breathless. Belatedly, he realizes that was his first kiss. Jeremy’s, too. His chest constricts. 

Jeremy hesitates, chewing on his lip as he searches Michael’s face, before asking, “Can I do it again?” 

Michael chokes down the  _ please _ in his throat and just nods. 

Jeremy kisses him again. And, to his surprise, again. And again. It gets better each time as they adjust, tilting their heads into more comfortable angles. Michael’s stomach feels like it’s on the drop of a rollercoaster and Jeremy still isn’t letting up. He places one hand on Michael’s shoulder, and the other has shifted to the back of his neck, causing Michael to become all too aware of the fact that his hands are awkwardly at his sides. Unsure from lack of experience and dizzy from the way they’re connected at the mouth, he hesitantly reaches his arms around Jeremy, settling his fingers along his back. It feels  _ right. _ It feels like fate, the culmination of every good decision Michael has ever made, the realization of all of his wildest fantasies, the universe blessing him with a holy gift, and  _ god, _ he’s way too fucking high for this. 

Their lips connect again and again, dragging against each other, slow and savoring. It’s overwhelming. Michael isn’t sure exactly how or when it happened, but he’s  _ definitely _ horizontal on the couch and Jeremy is  _ definitely _ on top of him on his hands and knees. He’s starting to use tongue now, hesitant and gentle, and Michael realizes that this, this incredible, amazing thing that is happening right here, is making out.  _ He is making out with someone for the first time and that person is Jeremy and oh my god.  _

It’s so good. It’s  _ too _ good. It’s  _ not enough. _

Has it been hours? Michael is overstimulated and maybe dying. He’s floating in a haze of Jeremy Heere. His hands, still loosely gripping Jeremy’s shirt, gently tug towards him. God, he wants more. In a sudden burst of confidence, Michael leans up and kisses clumsily down Jeremy’s jaw and neck, teeth grazing his skin. Then, two things happen at once. 

One, Jeremy straight up moans. It sounds like a whine, quiet but damning. 

Two, when Jeremy’s self-control slips that fraction of an amount, his body arches, forcing his leg forward and right past the unspoken boundary of empty space between them. 

Michael jerks his face back and gasps at the feeling of Jeremy’s thigh pressing between his legs. It’s so right and so, so wrong. His body is shouting  _ roll your hips _ but his brain is finally waking up and starting to scream  _ this is your best friend, you fucking moron. _ He meets Jeremy’s gaze and watches the glazed-over look in his eyes begin to clear. The hormones-and-pot-induced spell over them is breaking. 

And then it shatters.

Jeremy’s eyes widen and he flees, scrambling backwards off Michael. He frantically untangles their legs and backs himself into the far corner of the couch, hands clutching at his hair. “Holy shit, holy shit, holy  _ shit!” _

Michael sits up against the opposite corner, drawing his knees in. “Holy shit,” he agrees.

He reaches down and gropes along the ground until he finds his glasses, shakily returning them to his face. The blurry figure across from him morphs into a panic-stricken version of his best friend. 

“Oh, god,” Jeremy groans. A flash of realization crosses his face.  _ “Oh, _ god.” He looks up wildly at Michael and flinches. “Oh,  _ god!” _

Michael can’t help himself. Half from the absurdity of the situation, half from the weed, he starts to giggle. 

Jeremy looks on in horror, but that only makes Michael laugh harder. “Your – fuckin’ – face!” he manages, doubled over. 

“Shut up!” Jeremy cries, but he’s grinning now. After resisting another few seconds of Michael’s cackling, he breaks out into giggles himself, and the two of them laugh until they’re gasping for air and wiping away tears. 

“So, was it good for you?” Michael teases, still snickering.

“Oh my god.” Jeremy covers his reddening face with his hands, but he’s still smiling. “Asshole.”

Michael just laughs and leans back against the couch, returning his attention to the TV. He tries to watch Jeremy out of the corner of his eye, but he can’t quite figure out how to do it without being obvious. His chest is bursting with  _ feelings. _ He doesn’t know if that’s good or bad, and his brain is too mushy to process everything that just happened, so he tries to just relax and let the movie wash over him. 

The next morning, they can’t even look each other in the eye. After a tense, silent breakfast, Jeremy flees with barely a goodbye. Michael feels sick. 

Next Wednesday, Michael is standing at his locker when Jeremy walks up wearing the resigned facial expression of someone headed to their own execution. 

“Hi.” 

Michael’s stomach twists with worry and excitement. Aside from a few awkward acknowledgements as they pass each other in the halls, they haven’t spoken since The Incident™. He grips his locker door tightly, trying to discharge his nerves through the metal like static electricity. Knuckles turning white, he forces himself to appear nonchalant. “Hey.” 

Jeremy lowers his voice, casting nervous glances at the other students traipsing the halls. “So, about this weekend…” 

Michael braces himself. For what, he has no idea, but Jeremy looks like even more of a nervous wreck than usual. Michael has gone over every hypothetical confrontation he can imagine this past week. He’s even acted some of them out in the shower. Is he going to tell Michael to never speak to him again? Is he going to declare his undying gay love? Michael drags his thumb painfully across the locker door in his hand and tries to remain calm. 

Jeremy exhales slowly. “I’m sorry for being weird for the past few days. It’s just been, y’know,” he gestures vaguely. 

“No, no, don’t worry about it, man,” Michael hurries to say. “I’ve been hella weird too. You’re right, it’s been–” he copies Jeremy’s gesture with his free hand. 

Jeremy cracks a small smile. “Yeah.” The smile wavers. “But, Michael, I don’t want it to be–” he gestures again. “I want it to be normal. Can we move past it and be normal again?” 

Michael releases the locker door. “Oh my god, can we please? I hate this.”

Jeremy visibly relaxes, face splitting into a grin. “Agreed. This has been the worst. See you at lunch today?” 

“Hell yes!” They exchange their best friend secret handshake, and all is right with the world. Except... 

“Did you figure it out?” Michael asks, because he’s awful and can’t help himself. 

Jeremy squints at him. “Figure what out?” 

Michael half-turns toward his locker as if direct eye contact will scare Jeremy off. “The whole sexuality thing.” 

After a few painful seconds of silence, Michael glances nervously at Jeremy, whose smile has dropped from his face. He’s deflated entirely, looking like Michael just asked him to recount the death of his childhood dog. Michael opens his mouth to backtrack, but Jeremy beats him to the punch. 

“Yeah. I’m bisexual,” he says mournfully. 

Michael feels a traitorous flutter of hope in his chest and he crushes it mercilessly. Their friendship is the most important thing. Much more important than Michael’s dumb  _ feelings. _

They eat lunch together that day, comfortable and familiar, as if nothing has changed. As if the kiss meant nothing.

Michael hates himself for feeling disappointed. 

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in August 2018 on a note on my phone. I rediscovered it recently and realized that if I chopped out the unfinished bits I had, which covered the play's canon and beyond, I could leave it ambiguously unhappy and unrequited. It ended up being a stronger ending than the stuff I had originally intended (a very typical boyf riends story).
> 
> Re-reading this was a really strange experience. Almost two years later, I can see this fic for what it is - a painfully personal and autobiographical bit of writing. It reflects some of my own experiences with my sexuality in a way that's very obvious to me now. 
> 
> I also realized that "characters get carried away making out on a couch, get shocked apart by something, and then the character on top flees to the other end of the couch" is something that I put into a fanfic I _just_ finished and posted very recently. I can't help but feel like I was subconsciously drawing on this fic when I wrote it, lol.
> 
> I'm not invested in this fandom like I was at the time of writing, though I still love the musical. It's definitely special to me, so it is with a lot of love that I hand this over to y'all.
> 
> Thank you for reading. <3


End file.
